


Fluttering Wings

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: Fruits Basket
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches the birds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fluttering Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ May 19, 2009.

They always flew away from him, now. Once, they would always be by his side. Flying over his head, sitting on his shoulders, settling contently on an outstretched hand. He would fly free with them, feeling the winds soar through his feathers until the magic wore off and he would fall back down to earth, but never unhappy and never detesting that descent. He would get up, brush himself off, and smile as the creatures remained beside him. They would sit on his shoulders and peck affectionately at his ears, always a tiny, gentle reminder that they were always there for him. He could sit for hours and listen to their songs.

That time seemed like such a long time ago.

Now they flew away from him. There was nothing special that connected them anymore. If he stepped too close, they were quick to spread their wings and fly away from him as fast as their wings would carry them, twittering in fear, their wings flapping in a panic.

He never said anything. He would only watch, face carefully controlled, but even sometimes he could not shadow that waver of a sad smile, as he watched them fly away, as if he were just any other human. He could never fly after them again.

He would sit on the park benches and watch them fly from branch to branch, or hop playfully through the grass, picking at seeds and worms. Once, they would have been there on the bench with him, singing and flying above his head.

He would never fly again.

His wings were clipped, tethered. On that park bench, he would sit and watch them, longing. Sometimes he would tip his head back and close his eyes, hearing their songs so far away, no longer in his ears, and thinking that the sun beating on his cheeks was as warm as her smile. He would derail those thoughts instantly, before they could manifest to something greater.

He would never fly again.


End file.
